The Light of Home
A funeral homily delivered by Rev. Peter T. Atkinson
March 7, 2016
for the funeral of Eleanor Virginia Rowe Allman
at Gordonsville Presbyterian Church, Gordonsville, VA
Genesis 1: 1-5
Matthew 5: 14-16
Let
us pray,
Help
us to see despite our eyes
Help
us to think outside of our minds
Help
us to be more than our lives
For
your eyes show the way
Your mind knows the truth
Your being is the life.
Amen.
In the beginning when
God created the heavens and the earth, 2
the
earth was a formless void and darkness covered the face of the deep, while a
wind from God[b] swept over the face of the waters. 3 Then God said, “Let there be light”; and
there was light. 4 And God saw that the
light was good; and God separated the light from the darkness. 5 God called the light Day, and the
darkness he called Night. And there was evening and there was morning, the
first day.
14 “You are the light of the world. A city
built on a hill cannot be hid.15 No one after lighting a
lamp puts it under the bushel basket, but on the lampstand, and it gives light
to all in the house. 16 In the same way, let
your light shine before others, so that they may see your good works and give
glory to your Father in heaven.
The
Lord did not waste any time. Before he made anything else, he made the light.
He spoke, saying let there be light and it was good. He hung the stars as
lights in the sky. He led his people, a pillar of flame, lighting up the night,
shining, leading the Israelites to the home that he had made for them. Light is
a symbol of God’s righteousness, God’s protection, God’s truth, God’s
revelation, God’s providence, even of God’s own Son, who said, I am the light
of the world, yes the light came into the world, and he was the light of the
world, people who had been walking in darkness had finally seen a great light,
a lamp unto our feet and a light to our paths, a light shining through darkness,
shining so bright that in him there would be no darkness at all. . . and it is
in his image that we are made, to be a reflection of his image, a mirror to His
light, shining bright, a light reflected directly from His light to and for the
world, forever to be placed upon a hill, on a lampstand, giving light from our
homes, through, and out of our homes, for all the world to see, so glory can be
given to God. For 100 years, from all I have been told, Virginia Allman
believed this to be true, and strove always to live her life as a shining
light, and this is why she loved lighthouses. She saw in them a symbol of her
simple faithfully lived philosophy of life, caring, hospitable, solid, and
shining.
Picture
if you will, the sea, rough, vast, flowing, and dangerous, mysterious in its
depths, treacherous, especially in its rocky shallow edges, on one such edge is
a rock foundation, strong and prominent;
secure on that rock, hanging out over the edge, on an exposed promontory, is a
house, simple, elegant, quite strikingly beautiful, fashionable, and
meticulously decorated, a tall steeple like tower stands atop the house, and in
that tower, above that house, fastened to the rock is a light, shining in the
darkness. Like the stars that God himself hung in the sky, it guides the weary
traveler, safely home. It is the first light of home he sees, welcoming,
hospitable. . . and constant.
These
are the words and this is the image that three generations of Virginia Allman’s
daughters used to describe her to me. She believed that the light of her life,
all the talents she had been given by God, her very self was to be used, and
shown, given, for the glory of God, to the weary travelers of life. That her
home was to be open, that if you stopped by to visit, she’d want you to stay to
eat, “have you eaten yet?” and if you stayed to eat, why not stay and sleep? It
is dark and cold out there, and her light was on, her stove was hot, and her
house was warm with a special kind of love she made look easy, effortless,
magic, the difficulty of which could only be seen if you would ever try to
emulate it yourself.
She
believed in friendship, and she believed in family. She knew that family should
spend time together, that family memories, stories, games, conversations,
inside jokes that come only from togetherness, are what makes life worth
living. Families ground us, connect us to our roots, making for us a home, a
place to be together, place that is safe, so that when we go on our adventures,
the adventures of life, she knew all too well that people need to take, like
driving trips back and forth to Detroit, or flying lessons, or even as simple
as the adventure of unauthorized roller skating, no matter the vehicle, no
matter the danger, no matter the distance, no matter how far away your
adventure took you, you always would have a safe place, where the light is always
shining. . . a light that in your memory, no matter how rough the seas of life
become, could always guide you back home.
She
believed in gifts. . . knowing that symbols are important, mementos and
sacramental memories, which become the subtle poetry and communion of life,
like lighthouses, scrapbooks, memorized patterns to knit for folks, each one
perfect, made perfect, connected gifts, like flowers and plants, a skilled
gardener knows how and knows that one seed, one strain could be spread and
connect places and people together, divided by miles, or even years. . . that
the trails of life intersect, and those intersections should be marked so they
can be remembered. Every house she ever lived in, including the one her body
will find its rest in today is connected by a strain from a single seed of
Aucuba, lovingly called Acuba. Life is connected in such ways, the paths we
take are always lighted, and in such all are connected. A person who knows all
of this, these secrets of life, strives to teach people, to guide them, by her
own example, preaching the sustainable lessons of action, and when her pupils
were too thick to get it from such things, she had a way, a subtle way, a
graceful way of letting you know, without letting you know, humor is often the best
critic. . . and Virginia had that subtle gift.
We
here at Gordonsville Presbyterian Church lost another great light last week as
well. Lydia and Virginia, fast friends, sharing bonds of love and service to
Christ, tending gardens, planting seeds, both were shining lights. I said of
Lydia that her life as a teacher and gardener, reflected the image of God, and
so was fully human, fulfilled as human life should be. . . where so many of the
details of her life emulated the savior she served and loved. It is evident
that the same is true for Virginia. Her light she did not hide under the
bushel, but shone it fully for all to see and learn from. Such light never
dies, for it shines brighter than we can imagine, it is reflected in every one
her life touched, and carries on in your hearts, in your memories, and now she
is home, and her light can guide you home there to her as well, as it always
has.
Jesus
says, I am the light of the world, I am the resurrection and the life, I am the
way, the truth, and the life. . . in him was life, and his life was the light
to all people. Thanks be to God. . . Amen.
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